Chapter Seventeen: Michael’s Fury

“Hey, let’s not talk about work right now—we’re eating,” Helen stopped her husband, steering the conversation away.

One of their children chimed in, “Tell us about today! Did you catch that spider-girl yet?”

“No, we haven’t caught her,” George replied. He wanted to paint Spider-Girl in a negative light, hoping to discourage his children from idolizing or imitating her. After all, what she did was too dangerous; he would never want his own children to become someone like that. “But we will catch her. She’s an amateur who attacks people late at night, leaving behind plenty of clues, but she’s still very dangerous.” George could see that Spider-Girl’s abilities far surpassed those of ordinary people. If she ever strayed from the right path, the harm she could do to society would be immense. The best course would be to officially register her and impose restrictions.

Gwen couldn’t accept this. How could he say that? She was clearly helping others, yet George described her as attacking pedestrians.

“I’ve watched her videos, Dad. She was catching car thieves. I think most people would agree she’s protecting the public.”

“Most people are wrong.” George looked at Gwen seriously and continued, “Do you know how long we’ve been monitoring that car thief? We were just about to uncover the mastermind behind his operation, and the entire criminal network. But then Spider-Girl intervened, and now we have nothing. The chain of evidence is broken. Six months of undercover work—gone.”

Gwen realized she’d unwittingly ruined their efforts.

“Clearly, she didn’t know about your plan. If she did, she wouldn’t have acted that way.”

“You seem to know her pretty well.” Sensing her father’s sharp intuition, Gwen fell silent, wary of saying too much.

Michael was beginning to understand why George was so determined to capture Spider-Man. The existence of Spider-Man was, in a way, a challenge to the law. The masked vigilante looked cool, but in reality, such actions teetered dangerously on the edge of legality. Moreover, Spider-Man undermined the dignity of the police, creating a stir with a few acts of kindness, making it seem as if the police had accomplished nothing. Finally, Spider-Man’s actions could interfere with police operations—just like this time, when six months of undercover work was wasted.

“Which side do you support?”

George pressed on, eager to know what his daughter might know. But Gwen was no fool. Taking Spider-Man’s side now would only suggest she had some connection to Spider-Man.

“I don’t take sides. I just saw her videos online and thought she wasn’t as bad as you say.”

George smiled. “You watched a video and now the case is solved? You still don’t grasp how serious this is.”

Helen grew impatient. This felt like an argument in front of guests—hardly appropriate. “Can we please drop this subject?” All she wanted was a pleasant dinner: her unique recipes were delicious, the guests refined and charming, yet George and Gwen were ruining it.

George remembered Michael was present, but he had no intention of ending the discussion. “Michael, what do you think?”

Michael felt the urge to roll his eyes. Was he supposed to be the wise judge? “You don’t like Spider-Man, Mr. George?”

George took a deep breath. “I don’t like any masked vigilantes who claim to be righteous. All crimes should be judged by law, not by people taking justice into their own hands. If they become role models, if everyone acts like them, society would descend into chaos. They’re not righteous, nor heroes—just individuals obsessed with their own brand of heroism.”

Gwen fell silent.

George was waiting for Michael’s answer and didn’t notice Gwen’s change in demeanor.

Michael wiped his mouth, thought quietly, and said, “Mr. George, why do people prefer Spider-Man over the police? Is it really because your efforts go unnoticed?”

George was taken aback.

Yes, why?

This country was strange. Its people didn’t appreciate the police and soldiers who protected them; instead, they idolized these clowns.

“Mr. George, when an ordinary person faces robbery, assault, or extortion, do they crave a savior to swoop in and rescue them—or do they want someone to promise justice after everything has happened? Even after repeatedly demanding justice, yet never seeing results?”

George was silent. Not every case was like a stolen car—where property was lost, often unbeknownst to the victim. Far more cases left victims unable to accept what had happened; even after calling the police, there might be no outcome. The answer seemed clear.

“People like Spider-Man and Daredevil for a simple reason: their safety is not properly protected. If the police really kept the peace, so that the elderly, women, and children could wander freely at night, no one would admire a masked oddity dispensing private justice.”

“But you can’t do that. You can’t even ensure that criminals who’ve been through prison can truly reform. Even so, you release them, give them freedom and human rights, but forget to protect everyone’s lives and property.”

“Mr. George, the stability you speak of is just an illusion, a guarantee for the wealthy to enjoy state benefits. Even on your own street, thugs commit crimes—please open your eyes and see.”

“If the police truly fulfilled their duty, there wouldn’t be so many villains running rampant, and we wouldn’t need Spider-Man.”

“Mr. George, whose lives do your fairness and justice really protect? Who do you serve— the country, the law, or the wealthy?”

“Perhaps in the eyes of the rich, you’re quite competent. But to ordinary people, you’re nothing.”

“Oh, pardon me—I forgot I’m actually quite wealthy myself.”

“Mr. George, do you need me to award you a medal?”

“Mr. George, I wish you’d spend a few nights alone out there; maybe then you’d understand just how poor the security really is.”

“One Spider-Man may not amount to much, but if everyone had a heart for justice like him, the world would be a much better place.”

His words poured out like a barrage, leaving George dumbfounded.

Excited, Michael loosened his tie, unfastened the buttons at his collar.

“Sorry, I got a bit carried away. Where’s the balcony?”

Mrs. Helen pointed outside, and Michael rose and walked out.

“Are you alright, George?”

George wiped his cheek. “I was angry at first, but now I think—maybe people like Spider-Man because of us.”